


The Ladies Who Lunch

by notlucy



Series: We Wish You a Merry Kink-mas [12]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Feelings, Friendship, Gen, Have I mentioned I don't know how to tag this?, I Don't Even Know, Lunch, Sort Of, Therapist Wade Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 02:25:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13203771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notlucy/pseuds/notlucy
Summary: Peggy and Wade treat themselves to lunch after a hard morning. Or: what happened when Bucky thought they were hunting Bigfoot.





	The Ladies Who Lunch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crockzilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crockzilla/gifts).



> This exists for Crockzilla, who encouraged me to follow my heart and write it when I was struggling to come up with an idea for my sixth vignette. Takes place in the shared holiday fun that has been the [We Wish You a Merry Kink-mas](http://archiveofourown.org/series/897735) series. You probably should read at least _Way Up North Where the Air Gets Cold_ if you want any context for how these two ended up hanging out. If this particular universe of happy, fluffy kinkiness floats your boat, you can start at the beginning with [The Brownstone in Brooklyn](http://archiveofourown.org/series/804555) and [Domesti-kink with Spideypool](http://archiveofourown.org/series/782775). 
> 
> Seriously, this won't make a lick of sense out of context! (Also, I think I'm the first person to tag Peggy Carter & Wade Wilson friendship. Which...makes sense when you think about it.)

Wade Wilson was Steve’s friend. Peggy knew that. Peggy respected that. But Wade, as it turned out, was terribly good company - full of wonderful ideas for how to pass a few hours on Boxing Day. Namely: something fizzy and boozy and brunch-y, just the two of them.

Peggy had been in the room previously set aside for gift wrapping when Wade found her. Said room, devoid of its earlier chaos, was now a small, pleasant sitting room with a sofa and a bookshelf filled with precisely the sort of trash one wanted to read on holiday. She was in the process of selecting a book, rubbing her shoulder absently and stretching her arm. Funnily enough, birching the holy hell out of Steve Rogers had left her muscles sore and her body aching.

“That looks like it hurts,” Wade said, startling her as she turned around, finding him in the doorway of the room. “Sorry, just passing through.”

“It does, rather,” she agreed, gesturing him in. “I was hoping to will it away by ignoring it.”

“That never works,” Wade said, and Peggy supposed he knew something about aches and (constant) pains. “You ought to get a massage from one of those big, strong guys you’ve got.”

The thought hadn’t occurred to her. Steve was recuperating, Bucky was coddling him, and Peggy could take care of her own sore arm.

“Mmm,” she said. “Maybe later, after I’ve gone shopping.”

“Shopping?”

“We’re nearly out of food. I was going to go into town once I’d finished my tea.” The perils of Steve and Bucky, with their enhanced metabolisms. And, to a lesser extent, Peter and Wade, who expended a lot of energy as well.

Wade studied her for a minute, and it was hard to get a read on exactly what he was thinking. “Great, let’s go,” he chirped.

“Pardon?”

“Let’s go. I could use a distraction.”

 

* * *

 

Wade was sneaky, artfully driving them right past the small grocery store and into the parking lot of a charming little restaurant.

“This isn’t the co-op,” she commented.

“So Peter and Bucky go without Pop-tarts for a couple hours,” Wade shrugged. “We’ve earned it.”

“Earned what, precisely?”

He gestured, vaguely, towards the restaurant. “This?”

Twenty minutes later, sitting with a mimosa and having put an order in for eggs benedict, Peggy was beginning to see the merits of ‘this’ - and the merits of time spent with Wade Wilson one-on-one.

“...wait, the slugs _were_ aliens, or they were terrestrial but _bred_ by an alien?”

Wade blinked. “You know, I never thought to ask, what with the eating them and all.”

“Huh,” she nodded. “Well, it was nice of Peter to take care of you.”

“We take care of each other,” Wade said, sipping his own cocktail, which would do nothing for him but, as he said, was a great shade of red. “Which I realize sounds...totally gross. Like, actual vomit.”

“No, it’s nice,” she said with a shrug. “Can I ask you something?”

He nodded, as his mouth was occupied with the cherry from his drink.

“Steve mentioned that you’re...Little sometimes?”

Wade blinked again, quickly swallowing the fruit and cocking his head to the side. “Yyyyep.”

“So…”

“Do you want to be Little? Because I’m thinking of teaching classes…”

Peggy was taken aback, and she actually laughed. “I...no. I don’t. It’s not for me. But Steve…” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t be asking if he hadn’t said I could.”

“Mmm,” Wade replied, looking at her with a smile, as though he’d just figured something out.

“What?”

“Nothing. But. Nevermind. What are you asking, exactly?”

“Well…” she said, thinking through it. “With Bucky, he just always _was_. Tony, too. Steve...I don’t know quite how to get him there. Or, how to get him to get himself there.”

Wade’s eyes lit up, and he leaned forward conspiratorially. “So,” he began. “Let’s talk props.”

 

* * *

 

Brunch had been a delight, and grocery shopping with Wade was proving to be unexpectedly calming. That was the only word for it. Steve and Bucky tended to pick at each other, because they’d spent a lifetime doing it, fighting over which bit of produce was freshest, and if _this_ thing or _that_ thing tasted more like they remembered it. Wade, conversely, had a _list_.

Granted, Peter had written it for him the night before with explicit instructions for appropriate grapefruit density, but so far he was sticking to it.

(Unlike Bucky, who tended to open random biscuit packages in the middle of the aisle and insist they were “paying for it anyway, Pegs.”)

“Right,” she said. “I think we just need milk now, and we’re done.”

“I think...ooh, look at _that_ ,” Wade said, distracted as he crossed to a display and picked up a very fancy looking candle. A candle which cost approximately thirty dollars. Which was the _most_ excessive thing Peggy had ever seen. Wade agreed when he saw the price, muttering something about capitalist extortion.

“Thirty bloody dollars for something I could make myself,” Peggy agreed. “Now there’s an idea…”

“You do that a lot,” he said conversationally. “Make stuff?”

“I…” Peggy hadn’t really ever thought about it. It was simply what one did. “Suppose I do.”

Wade didn’t respond, just put the candle in the cart and continued down the aisle, which was full of fancy little soaps and lotions and other fripperies that her more practical nature hated to admit she enjoyed.

“We don’t need the candle…” she protested.

“You do,” he replied cheerfully, selecting quite a few bits and bobs off the shelves, tossing them into the cart with abandon. “Consider it a last minute gift.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You made us all onesies,” he countered. “Skewing the whole ratio of gifter to giftee. I’m just making things right.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake…”

“You need a spa day,” he picked up a loofah and tossed it into the cart.

“A spa day?” she repeated, because if that wasn’t the most self-indulgent thing she’d ever heard, she didn’t know what was.

“A spa day,” he repeated. “Sit. Relax. Have Bucky paint your nails and Steve rub your shoulders. And - here’s the best part - _you_ don’t have to do _anything_ for them.”

The idea of that brought her up short because asking Steve and Bucky to take care of her just seemed selfish somehow. They both had so much to worry about, after all, and the least she could do was help them get out of their heads for a bit, whether Steve needed a trip to the woodshed or Bucky wanted to be Little.

“I…” she began.

“They’ll like it,” Wade grinned. Peggy liked it when Wade grinned, though she knew there were plenty of people in the world who found it terrifying. To her, it was more...conspiratorial. As though they were in on a secret together. Or perhaps, in this case, that he knew something she didn’t.

Peggy glanced down at the cart, which was now full to bursting, thinking it over. “I don’t know...that I’d be terribly good at being taken care of.”

“Sure,” he said. “Being vulnerable sucks.”

Well. She certainly hadn’t thought about it like _that_ before. Wade left her to mull it over, tossing over his shoulder that he was going for the milk.

 

* * *

 

“I am shit,” she began, once they were in the car, heading back up the road. “At being vulnerable. After my brother died, I put that part of myself away. And when I thought I’d lost Steve and Bucky the first time, I...well, I was angry with myself. So when I got this chance, again, with both of them, I just wanted to keep them both happy.”

“Yeah,” Wade agreed. “Grief and trauma can do that to a person. Not to anyone I know or anything. Just, hypothetical people. And you.”

“Ha,” she smiled, glancing over at him. “You ought to be a therapist.”

“They don’t let Canadians do that. I checked.”

“Shame,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Eh,” Wade shrugged. “Your arm looked like it really hurt. Least I could do. For the onesie.”

“For the onesie,” she agreed, pausing for a moment before looking over at him. “We ought to get lunch sometimes, when we’re both in the city. Barring space slugs, of course.”

“Barring space slugs.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tomorrow is the FINAL VIGNETTE! It features the World War Threesome ring-a-ding-dinging in the New Year. It's smutty as hell, and possibly defies the laws of physics. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr at [notlucy](https://notlucy.tumblr.com). Crockzilla is also on Tumblr at (shock) [crockzilla](https://crockzilla.tumblr.com).


End file.
